I don't know why this subject has been coming up so much for me lately, but it seems like I've had this conversation with almost every one in my life these days. Which got me thinking that I should maybe write about this???? Because there seems to be a lot of people out there who don't really know or understand what an introvert even IS????? And, well, since I'm basically the poster child for introverts, I thought maybe I'd take it upon myself to explain the strange phenomenon known as introvertism. (Totally just made that word up.)

A wild introvert spotted in its natural habitat: the land of solitude

In an effort to accomplish this in the most efficient way possible, I have compiled a list of must-know fun facts about introverts!
These facts are as follows:

1. Introverts feel fatigued by socializing, and energized by alone time. Therefore, they require alone time in order to recharge.

2. We are not assholes. Of course, we want to be your friend. We just never want to see you or talk to you ever.

LOL just kidding.

Sort of.

3. It doesn't matter if the social experience is a positive or negative one, it will still drain us. It doesn't mean we didn't enjoy ourselves or that we don't like you.

4. Introverts require a minimum 3 day recharging process before you can attempt to invite them out for something again.

LOL okay maybe not really, but pretty close. It's more like 3 weeks.

5. Being introverted doesn't mean that I am anti-social. I am still friendly and I still like people. I can even like socializing, especially one-on-one, but it has to be in small doses.

6. Being introverted doesn't mean that I have social anxiety or that I am shy. In fact, you can be quite good at socializing, but still feel drained by it.

7. Introverts are often misunderstood by their friends, because most of their friends are probably extroverts. Introverts are less likely to "reach out" to others, so a lot of the time we end up building friendships with whichever friendly extrovert happens to come along and decide to adopt us.

8. Introverts are more likely to practice deep internal reflection, which makes them great conversationalists.

9. Introverts tend to make really great public speakers! Being on the stage is not the problem. It's being in the crowd we have a problem with.

10. Introverts are usually very creative. All that internal reflection requires a creative outlet!

Anyway, that's what I've got for today. Hopefully it was informative or helpful in some way.

I know. I know. It's been a while, and I'm sorry! But first of all, I would like to formally welcome ya'll to my new blog! I realize my blogging journey has had a couple of false starts, but the thing is, shortly after starting the last blog, I decided to detach from the Wix platform. So I had to pack my virtual bags and move back to Blogger, which was a bit of a process.

But I'm up and running now! And I don't plan on going anywhere for a while, so please take a seat. Get comfortable. Might I interest you in a nice tall glass of strawberry açai berry refresher with coconut milk? Preferably in the size "wine bottle"? #LOL #notevenkidding

Second of all, I really need to talk about this day I've just had, ok???? Because shit has hit the fan over here.

Or in this case, the fluffy white comforter.

But I'm getting ahead of myself...

For those of you who don't know this about me, I am a lash artist by profession and I have a small home-based spa. Which is super great...most of the time. But it has its down sides.

One of the many challenges I face is pets. I have two cats that I love very much, but it just also happens that one of them is a bit of an asshole... Okay, a lot of an asshole. And when he doesn't get his way (example: I keep him locked away so he doesn't disturb my clients) he will seek revenge in the most cruel and inconvenient of ways imaginable.

In this case, he decided to poop on the bed. Like, on MY side of the bed. And did I mention my comforter is (mostly) white and brand new????????

So, yeah. Like a said. ASS. HOLE.

(Seriously, they're not as dumb as they look.)

So, needless to say, I panicked and promptly proceeded to throwing the comforter into the tub and scrubbing the stains out ASAP with all the cleaning materials at my disposal. (Baking soda is a life saver!)

Which worked... sort of. Except I still wanted to give it a run through the wash with some bleach, just to be extra safe.

Turns out, my streak of bad luck was only beginning. Or so I would very soon find out. Because after loading the comforter into the washing machine, I had walked away for all of five minutes before I smelled something... suspicious.

Something that should not have been in my house.

Something that smelled alarmingly similar to smoke.
At first, I thought it must have been coming from outside. The windows were open, after all.

But then it dawned on me.

Oh my gawd, I thought, as I dashed across the house. No no no!

I threw the door to the basement open (key piece of information: laundry room is located in basement) and immediately heard the worst possible earsplitting squeals of my life. It sounded like pigs were being murdered down there. I stumbled down the stairs at top speed and burst into the laundry room, only to discover the washing machine spewing and smoking like a bull in a fit of rage.

My heart just dropped into my shoes.

Turns out, even though the comforter had fit, once it had filled with water it had become too heavy for the machine. This quickly became abundantly clear to me when I struggled to wriggle the now-soaking-wet comforter out of the washing machine. I swear, the thing had quadrupled in weight. I felt like I was wrestling with a giant, soggy sea monster.

Water went everywhere. Smoke filled the laundry room. I just prayed the machine wouldn't spontaneously combust.

Although, at this point, I wouldn't even have been surprised. Because my luck was clearly the worst.

Thankfully, though, the machine cooled down without incident, and I was able to get the comforter back into the tub where I squeezed the water from it as best as I could.

Except then I was immediately faced with a new problem.What the hell was I supposed to do with this giant soggy thing now?????

Anyway, all in all, it was a pretty crazy afternoon. And for those of you who are curious: I ended up having to load the car up with towels so the seats wouldn't get soaked (they still kinda did) as I transported the wet beast to my in-laws. (They have super powered washing machines capable of handling monster comforters.) Then I hurried back in time for my next client.

Oh, also: the stains came out!

So that's good.

Now feel free to enjoy these beauty shots of my bedroom setup, brought to you by non-other than wonderful Ikea. #LOL

Pull up your pants and get ready for
the story of how I met my husband! My
Top 5 Tips for finding true love will be posted at the end! xo

Since today is Canada day and this
story revolves around something important that happened at a restaurant called
The Great Canadian Bagel, I figured it would be a good time to share.
Otherwise, I have nothing interesting to say about Canada Day. If any of you
non-Canadians out there are curious, all you need to know is that we paint our
faces red and white, go to Tim Horton's, and sacrifice a lobster in a deeply
meaningful ceremonious ritual.

Pretty cool, eh?

Anyway, to get to our story...

THE
GREAT CANADIAN BAGEL

The Spring of my 16th year, I remember
vividly there was a sudden influx of bees in my city. They were everywhere,
sneaking into every crevice and crowding the already crowded farmer's market
where I found myself most Saturday mornings.

Which was absolutely horrifying, if you
ask me, because one thing you should know about me is that I have never been
afraid of snakes, or rats, or mice, or June bugs, or spiders... but the gentle
buzzing of a bee's wings will send me flying into a tizzy.

Yes, that's right. A tizzy.

For example, on more than one occasion
over the years I'd found myself trapped inside my downtown apartment with
nothing but a bee or hornet to keep me company, and on each of these occasions
I ran like a madwoman and immediately sought the assistance of an adult.

But, shit, I was an
adult.

No. I needed a real adult. An adultier
adult. An adultier adulting adult.

(On at least two of these occasions,
the only individual at my disposal was my landlord who lived below us. He
stared at me like I was crazy when I asked him to go upstairs and kill the
buzzer for me.

I didn't even care.)

I remember only once killing a hornet
with my own two capable (incapable?) hands... Long after the little devil was
dead, I was still on the floor rocking gently and trying not to throw up or
pass out. So I guess you could say that didn't go well.

Anyway, you get the point. I hate the
damn things. I realize there is a difference between a hornet and a bee, but
I'll be damned if I'm going to stick around long enough to find out which one
is buzzing around my head. The sound alone gives me anxiety.

But, my embarrassing failures aside,
that Spring there were bees everywhere and I was spending my days indoors as
much as possible, when a dear friend of mine invited me out to breakfast. (A
friend who would one day be my brother-in-law, though neither of us knew it at
the time.)

"The Great Canadian Bagel,"
he decided would be our destination of choice, as he picked me up in a tiny
blue hatchback that resembled a blueberry more than an actual car.

We drove to the restaurant, ordered two
trays full of breakfast foods and coffee, and then proceeded to pick a table.

I fell silent as my belly pooled with
cold, hard dread. I can't clearly remember if I protested, I might have blacked
out purely from the fear, but the next thing I remember is being seated in
opposite chairs outside, surrounded by flower boxes overspilling with colors,
while an unforgiving sun blasted us.

"Relax," he told me.
"They won't bother you if you don't bother them."

He'd noticed I was sitting frigid in my
seat, my back ramrod straight as bees fluttered all around us. (I might also
have momentarily stopped breathing.) He went on to try to distract me with
recent stories of his life, but I barely heard a word. On the exterior, I was
smiling. But, internally, I was screaming.

I was only catching bits and pieces,
until, suddenly, he said, "I saw my brother last night. Apparently, he's
single again."

Through the fog of panic, I muttered
some appropriately sympathetic response.

He went on to ask, "What do you
think of my brother, Maggie?"

This time, I forced myself to blink
through the paralyzing fear. "I don't know him that well," I
admitted.

Which was the truth. Despite having
grown up around him (I have pictures of us together as far back as 20 years)
our age difference of nine years made it difficult for us to be close.

"I suppose not," my friend
nodded, his eyes unfocused for a moment as he (most-likely) thought back to
last night's family dinner.

But then, what he said next changed
everything.

Almost casually, he stated,"My
brother is actually really smart. In
fact, he's probably going to be rich someday."

Annnnnd all at once I forgot the bees,
forgot my fears, forgot everything! I threw my hands forward to slam them onto
the table (which was very stupid since it was a glass top. I'm lucky it didn't
shatter,) and announced, "Well, shit! Really? I should marry him!"

Then I threw my head back and laughed
uproariously, while my friend looked on with appropriate horror, no doubt
fearing for my sanity. (As though the paralyzing fear of bees wasn't proof
enough.)

He shook his head profusely.
"Maggie, no!"

But I would not be deterred. I
blatantly ignored his outright disapproval as a wicked grin spread across my
face.

"Yup. I'm doing it," I said.
"I'm sooo doing it."

He continued to shake his head. I
continued to ignore him, as evil plots manifested themselves in my mind.

I might have spent the subsequent two
years stalking my future husband with every tool at my disposal. (Facebook.)

Or I might not have.

I might, in fact, have forgotten all
about that morning at the Great Canadian Bagel... until years later, when I was
at the mall and a familiar figure suddenly materialized in the near distance
before me.

Let it be known that I was in
sweatpants, that my long black hair hadn't even been brushed, and that I wasn't
wearing a stitch of makeup on my face.

Julien, my future husband, was sitting
at one of the mall cafe's, and upon noticing him, I'd turned and said,
"Hi."

Apparently, that's all it takes.

Today, the Great Canadian Bagel story
remains one of my favorites. It just seems funny to me that I was joking about
marrying him years before it happened.

Anyway, I will wrap things up with my
advice for anyone seeking true love:

TOP
5 TIPS FOR FINDING TRUE LOVE

1.Choosing a life partner is one of the greatest acts
of self-love you can do, so make sure you do it from a place of self-love. How
you treat yourself is important in a relationship where two become one. xo

2.That's pretty much it.

3.There aren't even five tips.

4.I lied.

5.If the above fails you, find a rich guy and throw
yourself in front of his car. You can either sue him or marry him, your choice.
xo

Since I've decided to start
blogging, I thought I'd hop on tonight to quickly bore you with a subject
that's important to me, in an effort to explain what I'm about. Also, at the
end of this blog post I will include my TOP 5 tips for taking the perfect
selfies xo. But first:

I want to talk about sharing on social media.How I do it. Why I do it. Why
I'm comfortable doing it.

It's become such a common
aspect of everyday life in this technology age that we live in, and I just
thought I should clarify my approach as a sort of continued introduction to
this blog.

Let's start with Instagram!
That's the app I personally use the most. One of the reasons is that I've
observed that a lot of other social media platforms today are flooded with... a
lot of depressing shit, to put it so very eloquently. Whereas Instagram is all
about cute outfits, cats, and "look what I ate today"s. Which may
sound silly, but it's a refreshingly amusing platform where people can celebrate
the good in their lives, which I believe to be a worthwhile pursuit.

For example: exaggerations
about my love of food. (Which might, in fact, not be exaggerations at all
because have you ever tasted a doughnut?)

And this is important to me
because there's a reason why I acknowledge and laugh in the face of my
self-absorption and possible psychopathy. (Although, I'd like to point out that
people used to pay large commissions and spend even larger portions of time
posing for portraits and/or sculptures of themselves, whereas all I'm doing is
taking an innocent selfie okkkk? Gimme a breakkkk, people. xoxo)

But, the thing is, there IS a
specific reason why I social media this way, and it's this:

It's an active way for me to
not take myself too seriously.

Because taking myself too seriously has seriously had a negative impact
on my life.

Like,
seriously.

You
wouldn't think such a small thing could have such a big impact. You wouldn't
think it's that important. But since life is almost entirely composed of small
habits, for me, taking myself too seriously is a habit that manifested anxiety
into my life, made me less patient, and generally hindered my overall
happiness. And I didn't even realize it. I didn't realize how much unnecessary
weight I was carrying around.

Which
brings us to my goal in terms of sharing on social media.

I
have made it my mission to start the #unseriousness challenge. I wish to launch forth blindly in pursuit of complete
and utter unseriousness. I wish to become the comedic relief in my own life and
perhaps yours. At the very least, you can laugh at my efforts. Because
Instagram is all about the #inspo, which I looove, but I wish to inspire you in a different way. I
wish to be an influencer of a different kind.

I wish to inspire and influence you to be unseriousness with me.

So,
please, join me on the dark side. We have cookies and stuff.

TOP 5 TIPS FOR THE PERFECT SELFIE

Soooo...
I've had people reach out to me via Instagram for advice on how to
take good selfies. You know, besides "being pretty." (Their words,
not mine. And boyyy did I get a good laugh out of that one. If you are reading
this, know that you are too sweet. xo)

Soooo... I've decided to reopen my
blog, and I just wanted to touch up a bit on my decision before I dazzle you
all with my general tomfoolery.

Thing is, I've always struggled with the
concept of a blog. Sure, I'm obsessed with Instragram. I use it daily like any
well-behaving basic b*tch of the modern world. But a blog? Really? Aren't
those, like, so yesterday? Also, don't we have enough of them already?

Who's to say...

But despite these reservations, I can't
help wondering if Instagram is enough. I mean, don't I need something to tie
into the Instagram account I've created? Isn't that the next logical step in
this interneting process?

I suppose it is, because here we are! I've
decided to try this blogging thing out! I just have too many deep, lingering
thoughts swimming beneath my otherwise calm surface.

Also, I did a poll on Instagram and
ya'll said go for it. Yup, that's pretty much it.

1."The Art of Overdressing", in which we
learn how to go hiking in floor-length ball gowns.

2."The Art of Writing," in which I will try
to talk about the torturous process of being a writer when you have absolutely
no talent. Also, maybe do mini author interviews? Also, maybe post a FREE
weekly serial novel? I dunno. Basically, I have no clue what I'm going to do
with this segment.

3."The Art of Wifestyling", a word I just
made up to describe the fact that I drag my husband around to places to take
pictures. Yes, pictures. Expect lots of them. I was into photography before it
was cool, sooooo... ha.

4.BONUS CONTENT: "Anxiety Cat is
anxieting", which depicts every day struggles of a derpy kitty caught in
inner turmoils that mysteriously have nothing to do with the outer world he is
so terribly afraid of.

5.And last but not least: "The Art of
Oversharing," in which I treat this very public domain as though it were
my very own trash diary and possibly use the opportunity to give you horrible
advice on everyday matters, Brule's Rules style.*

"Just hose it off, dummy." -Brule's Rules

On second thought, maybe Mr. Portokalos
style, in which Windex is the answer to everything.

Soooo, yeah. To wrap things up, thank
you for reading and joining me on my blogging shenanigans. I hope to shock,
confuse, and disappoint. And then laugh it all off afterwards.

Also, just a quick warning before I go:
I purposefully use hella lots of spelling/grammatical errors. I started doing
it ironically and now I can't stop. If you know of any remedies, please feel
free to sent help k thankssssss byeeeee xoxox

About me

"When I'm not writing, I can be found snuggling with my cats and my husband, eating ice cream, and just generally navigating an ordinary world where no one knows what a brilliant writer I am one day going to most-probably be. Er, well, hopefully."